Emotional Armor
by MovieQueen
Summary: For a split second, Margaret lets her guard down, and Hawkeye gets a glimpse of how she really feels. He's honest with her, but can she bring herself to tell him the truth? This is my 2nd fic, HM of course! Please read and review! FINISHED!
1. Flattery

"Vascular clamp, Margaret."

"Vascular clamp."

"Scalpel."

"Scalpel."

"Well, that should about do it." Captain Hawkeye Pierce wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at the boy on the operating table. It had been touch and go for a long time, and he'd definitely had to improvise, but the surgery was over. Hawkeye smiled. "You're okay, kid," he whispered to his patient's unconscious form. "You're gonna be okay."

Across the table, Margaret Houlihan couldn't help but grin. She loved it when he was like that. Hawkeye was the most compassionate man she had ever known, and he cared so deeply about the soldiers he operated on. This particular young man had been shot full of shrapnel, and the difficult procedure they'd just gone through to save him had lasted hours. Finally it was all over, and seeing that relieved smile on the surgeon's face made Margaret feel fabulous, regardless of how tired she was.

"Margaret? Oh, Margaret?" It was Hawkeye's voice. She looked up and realized that nearly everyone in the OR was staring at her. She hadn't been standing there grinning like a fool for _too_ long, had she?

"That's one hell of a smile, Major," Hawkeye continued. "Beautiful, really." He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. "You wouldn't mind looking at me like that _all_ the time, would you?"

"Ooh, Margaret," Major Charles Winchester chortled from across the room. "What have you got to say to that?" Everyone looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

Margaret felt her cheeks flush. She didn't say anything.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Winchester announced, "I do believe Major Houlihan is blushing."

Margaret's cheeks burned even hotter. Hawkeye's passes at her were certainly nothing new, but she was usually quick to fire back a retort. Back when they'd first come to Korea, she'd been genuinely annoyed every time he'd said something like that. But now... she'd recently come to realize that she actually _liked_ it when he flattered her. She still shot back at him most of the time because that was what everyone expected, but she didn't mean it anymore.

And today? she thought. Oh God. Today she had forgotten to pretend.

The look on Margaret's face told Hawkeye that something was wrong. She was flustered, he thought, really flustered! He had only meant to tease her a little, but now she was standing there, helpless, as everyone laughed in her face. And he couldn't take that.

"Shut up, Charles," Hawkeye snapped. "Just leave her alone."

Winchester turned to the captain in surprise. Hawkeye glared at him.

"Oh, I see," Charles said flatly. He smirked. "I didn't know you two were-"

Hawkeye didn't let him finish. "I thought I told you to shut up!"

"Boys, boys!" Colonel Potter strode into the OR with his hands on his hips. "I heard you shouting, Pierce. What's going on?"

"Nothing, sir." Margaret walked over to the colonel. She had stood there, silent and shocked, as Hawkeye defended her, but now that Potter was getting involved, it was time to step in again.

The colonel sighed. "All right, Major, if you say so." He gave her a puzzled look. "Everybody back to work."

The afternoon came and went, and Margaret grew more and more uncomfortable with each passing hour. The tension in the room was immeasurably high. Charles was brooding and sending Hawkeye the occasional deadly glance; the nurses seemed afraid to talk to her; and Hawkeye? Margaret wished desperately that she could know what was going through his mind. He hadn't said a word to her since... well, since he'd teased her about her smile, actually. She wanted to talk to him, to say... she didn't know what. To thank him, maybe, for sticking up for her. All though, she thought angrily, Margaret Houlihan didn't need people to stick up for her. Margaret Houlihan didn't need anybody. _Certainly_ not him.

It was 8 o' clock that evening when she finally pulled off her surgical gloves. The end of a long, crummy day, she thought wearily. The _end_. Thank God.

She wanted to run from the OR, to run past the Swamp, past the mess tent, and all the way back to her door. She would curl up in bed in her bathrobe, and come up with something to tell Hawkeye when she had to see him the next day; had she really been flattered by his compliment? No, of course not! How could he possibly think...? Ha! Impossible! It would be so easy to brush him off, she thought, and then just forget the whole thing. And she would've done exactly that... if Hawkeye hadn't stopped her in the doorway.

"Margaret," he whispered. She made her way toward the door, pretending not to hear him.

"Margaret." He said it again, louder this time. She still didn't turn around.

"Damn it, Margaret, look at me!"

As much as she wanted to run, she couldn't just leave him standing there. Clenching her fists, she turned to face him.

"What, Pierce?" Ruefully, Margaret realized that her voice sounded desperate. She had meant to sound confidant, maybe a little annoyed. Anything but desperate.

"What happened today?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Good, she had sounded much stronger this time.

"The hell you don't." Hawkeye walked slowly toward her, and looked her straight in the eyes. She tried to back away, but he put his hands on her shoulders. "I've never seen you embarrassed like that before."

"I wasn't embarrassed." She could feel her cheeks starting to burn again. Very convincing, she thought dryly, I certainly don't look embarrassed now.

"You were flattered, weren't you? I told you you were beautiful and you didn't try to shut me up. You liked it."

"I didn't! I just didn't feel like yelling at you. I was tired, that's all."

Hawkeye sighed. "Margaret, I meant it when I said you were beautiful. You are. I... I wasn't joking." His eyes were full of longing, and she realized, in astonishment, that he was telling the truth. She wanted so badly to be honest with him, too, to say that she really had been flattered, that she loved it when he said things like that. But she couldn't.

"I... oh... shut up, Hawkeye!" She broke from his grip and ran out of the room.

Margaret tried to forget everything that night. She tried to read, but she couldn't concentrate. She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she could see him there, the way she'd left him, standing in the doorway. Why couldn't she have just told him the truth? It wouldn't have been so hard. Yes, yes it would, she told herself, but she didn't really believe it. What was the matter with her, anyway? Hawkeye was her friend, maybe even a little more than that. And she couldn't be honest with him? No, she thought sadly, guess not.

Margaret sighed, and buried her face in her hands. It was going to be a long night.


	2. The Truth

It was 3 o' clock in the morning. Margaret sat up in bed for what must have been the thousandth time, and ran her fingers through her hair. She felt awful; she wished that she didn't know why.

Of all the stupid things you've done in your life, Hot Lips, she thought, this one's pretty near the top of the list. She could feel the tears coming again and, this time, she didn't try to hold them back.

What a coward she was. The only man she had ever loved, ever really loved, was the only man she was afraid of. She would never have admitted that to anyone, but alone in the quiet of her tent, she could say it. "I'm afraid," Margaret whispered to the night, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh God, I'm afraid of him."

It could have been such an easy question. Had she been flattered when Hawkeye had told her she was beautiful? Yes, of course. Simple. But had she been able to tell him so? No, of course _not. _Not so simple. She had seen the look in those big, blue eyes of his, and she had stopped cold. She had wanted to kiss him right there, to collapse into his chest, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But instead? Instead she had lied, pulled away from his grasp, and run from the room as fast as she possibly could. And now it was three in the morning and here she was, sitting alone in this frigid little tent, crying.

You've got to stop doing this, she told herself. You've got to stop pushing people away. They reach out to you, and look what happens? You freeze up. You panic. You run.

She might've sat there all night, brooding and feeling sorry for herself, but suddenly she heard a noise. A faint, tapping noise. Somebody was knocking at her door.

"Margaret?"

She froze. It was Hawkeye.

"Margaret, I know you're in there." He spoke very softly, and she thought he sounded a little sad.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I said to make you run away like that, but... I wish I could take it back. Really." He paused, and let out a long breath. He sounded so tired, and she wanted to let him in; but she waited. Several minutes passed, and she wondered if he had left. Finally, he started to speak again.

"Look, I'm not gonna push you. I can't make you talk to me. I know you're listening, and if you don't want to open the door, you don't have to. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He sighed. "I'll leave you alone. Goodnight, Margaret."

She was amazed. He wasn't angry! He felt _bad_ about what had happened, and he was worried about her! And now she was going to just let him walk away? No, no. She couldn't.

Nervously, Margaret unlatched the door and stepped out into the night. It had begun to rain, and she shivered in her pajamas. Where was he? Everything was quiet, and there was no one in sight. She started to go back into her tent, but she decided against it. Wherever Hawkeye had gone, she had to find him.

The rain was getting harder, and she had barely left her door before she was soaked. The camp seemed deserted; she felt as if she was the only person on earth. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and she quickened her pace. She wasn't alone, not really. Hawkeye was here, somewhere, and once they were together everything would be all right.

It was twenty minutes before she found him. He was standing outside the officer's club, his lanky frame leaning against the door. The rain had beaten down on him, too, and droplets of water dripped from his hair and into his eyes. He stared off into the distance, clearly lost in his thoughts, and for a split second Margaret considered sneaking away before he saw her. But she couldn't leave him like this, not after she had messed things up so badly. Slowly, she made her way to his side and leaned up against the wall next to him.

"Hawkeye," she breathed, and he muttered something that she couldn't understand. She wasn't even sure that he knew she was there. She tried again.

"Hawkeye."

He turned from whatever he had been looking at and met her gaze.

"Margaret? What are you doing out here?" He looked her up and down, and his brow furrowed with concern. "You're soaked."

She nodded. "So are you."

They stood there, silent, for a minute or two. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued.

"Hawkeye, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run away from you like that, it was terrible. I just didn't know what to say. I guess I never really do, know the right thing to say, I mean. I...." She trailed off and looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

Hawkeye sighed. He stepped away from the door and turned so he was standing right in front of her.

"You just don't know how to take a compliment."

"No, I... I guess I don't." The tears were threatening to fall again, and she bit her lip. "Hawkeye, I'm so sorry."

"I know." He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, easily drawing her body from the wall. His hands were warm, and Margaret realized for the first time just how cold she was. She shivered. Hawkeye wrapped his arms around her.

"It's okay," he said simply, and she started to cry.

"Shh, shh, Margaret. It's okay. It's okay." He repeated it softly, gently rubbing her back. "You don't have to be so tough all the time. Everybody's gotta let go once in awhile." He paused. "I shouldn't have cornered you like that when we were in the OR. I just wanted to know what was going on. Guess I don't know when to shut up sometimes."

"No," she whispered through her tears, "it was my fault. You... you were just being nice. Damn it, Hawkeye, I'm so awful to you, I... and when you told me I was...." She couldn't finish.

He smiled. "Beautiful?"

She nodded, and cried even harder. He pulled her in closer and held her tight.

"You are beautiful, Margaret. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Interestingly enough, you're also the most stubborn. You're a beautiful, intelligent, stubborn woman who can't take a compliment."

He chuckled into her hair, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks."

"For calling you stubborn?" He grinned. "Anytime! And you know what else you are?"

"What?"

"Dripping wet, and so am I."

She laughed. "You're absolutely right."

"Of course I'm right, are you kidding? It's pouring out here! I say we go inside and ring ourselves out." He put his hand on her cheek, and she looked up into his eyes. "Are you okay now?"

"Yeah," she whispered, smiling. "I'm okay."

And this time, she was telling him the truth.


	3. Unlovable

She wasn't afraid anymore. At least, not all of the time. When she was with him, nothing else mattered; she could forget about the war, about the death that surrounded them, about everything else that was wrong with her life. She could be herself. Wow, what a feeling.

But there was always something missing. She and Hawkeye had become better friends than she had ever imagined they would be, but... that was all. That night three weeks ago when she had found him outside the officer's club, when she had cried on his shoulder and he had held her so tightly in his arms... Margaret had felt a stronger connection with him than she had ever felt with anyone. Hawkeye understood her, understood her pain and her desperation, understood why she pushed people away. It was a foreign but wonderful sensation for her, feeling understood. But as much as she had opened up to him over the past few weeks, she had never been able to ask him how he really felt; did he love her? She thought she loved him, but she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure she knew how to love anymore.

And, more importantly, she wasn't sure it was possible for anyone to love_ her_ anymore.

Margaret tried not to think about that. It was ridiculous, really; a person couldn't just _become_ unlovable. Could they?....

"Major? Margaret? You okay?"

Captain BJ Hunnicut's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see him standing in front of her, holding a tray of... some kind of food. Ahh, that's right; she was in the not-yet-crowded mess tent, sitting alone with her cup of coffee as people began to stream in for an early lunch. Seeing the quizzical expression on the captain's face, she frowned.

"BJ?"

"You're all by yourself. Want company?"

All she really wanted was to be left alone, but she knew he was just trying to be nice. Margaret shrugged, and he sat down across from her.

"So," BJ began, "how's lunch today? Edible?" When she didn't answer, he reached across the table and lightly tapped her hand. "Margaret?"

"What?"

"Are you all right? You seem a little...."

"I'm _fine_," she snapped, not letting him finish. Her voice sounded harsher than she had intended, and BJ gave her a puzzled look. Margaret ignored him, and stared down into her coffee.

"Margaret! Beej!"

Great. Just who she didn't want to see right now.

A smiling Hawkeye sauntered in the door, and made his way to their table. The confused look on BJ's face, and the downcast one on Margaret's, made him hesitate.

"Why so glum, chums?" Hawkeye asked.

"I'm not glum," BJ replied. He gestured toward Margaret. "_She's_ the one who's glum."

Hawkeye sat down next to her, and put his arm around her shoulder. He frowned when she stiffened at his touch.

"What's the matter? You look terrible."

She glared at him. There was no way she was going to tell him what was wrong, not this time. Not when he was the reason she was feeling so... whatever the hell she was feeling.

"I'm fine, Pierce."

"'Pierce'? What happened to 'Hawkeye'?" He stared at her, and she wondered if he could see the pain in her eyes.

"You're not fine, Margaret. I know you well enough to say that."

Why did he always have to be right? She glared at him again, trying to mask her hurt with anger. Get mad, she told herself. Get really mad. You can pull that off, it's easy. At least, it always used to be.

"Margaret, you're ignoring me."

"Obviously."

"Uh, Hawk?" BJ cut into the conversation, and both Hawkeye and Margaret jumped. The expression on the captain's face was so comical that Margaret almost wanted to laugh. He had been so quiet that she had actually forgotten he was there.

"Sorry, Beej." Hawkeye sighed. "Our little talk is ruining your lunch."

"No, no, it's fine." Hunnicut stood up and stepped away from the table, eyeing his friends nervously. "You two... _talk_. I'll see you later." He took one last look at Hawkeye, and walked away.

They sat there on the bench, silent. Hawkeye had dropped his arm from her shoulder, and Margaret could tell he was annoyed. Oh well, she told herself, you didn't want to talk to him anyway. Not right now, at least.

The lunch hour ticked by, tense minute by tense minute. Everyone else had disappeared from the mess tent, and they were alone. Neither of them said anything, but neither of them left either. Margaret tried her best to stay angry with him, but she could feel her resolve slipping away. Finally, she just couldn't stand the silence.

"I'm sorry, Hawkeye, this is a bad day. I've got a lot on my mind." She was pleased at the way that sounded, not too fragile, not too tough. Good cover, Hot Lips.

He turned to face her slowly. After a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand on top of hers.

"You sure you're all right?"

She tried to smile. "I'm all right."

Hawkeye shook his head and stood up from the table. "You're a devious woman, Margaret Houlihan. I know you're lying to me, but I suppose you're entitled." The crooked grin on his face faded, and he gave her a serious gaze. She looked away.

"However you want it," he said simply. He started for the door, and she buried her face in her hands. She wasn't expecting him to look back.

"I'm hoping for a chopper-free afternoon."

She sat up and looked at him, embarrassed.

"If you need me...." He studied her, concerned. "I mean if you want to talk, you know where I'll be."

She nodded, and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them again, Hawkeye was gone.


	4. Tears of Joy

She had to talk to him. She had tried to tell herself that it might be better if she didn't, that the air would clear after awhile and everything would go back to the way it was. That she wouldn't have to ask him that question. She had sat in her tent all afternoon, telling herself those things; it hadn't gotten her anywhere.

Margaret lay back on the small bunk and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Why? Why did it have to be so difficult? Why did she have to love him so much? Why did it have to hurt so much? She frowned, and sat up again. It was ridiculous, really. Margaret Houlihan, tough-as-nails, had somehow been reduced to a whimpering, timid woman who was afraid to talk to the person who knew her best.

She sighed. Damn this war. Damn Korea. She had been just fine before she got here, and now... she didn't think she could ever be all right again. Never. Not after everything she'd seen, everything she'd done... everyone she'd come to know. Margaret punched her fist into the palm of her hand. Damn that Hawkeye Pierce.

The boom of Radar's voice coming over the PA interrupted her thoughts. Annoyed, she crossed her arms and listened.

"Attention. Attention all personnel. It's seven o'clock and... no, wait... it's six o'clock... well, whatever time it is, it's that time, and the supper tent is now serving a mess... I mean... the mess tent is now serving supper. Please report for... yeah. Thank you."

Margaret rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hold back a small smile. You could always count on Radar to lighten the mood a bit, especially if he wasn't trying to. She stood up and looked at her watch. It was 6:15. Breakfast had been hours ago and she'd had nothing but a cup of coffee for lunch; having something to eat probably wouldn't be a bad idea. Reluctantly pulling on her jacket, she unlatched the tent's small door and stepped out into the evening air.

Halfway to the mess tent, she decided to turn back. The beginnings of an awful headache were throbbing in her temple, and she didn't feel like facing everyone right now; not when she was tied up in so many knots. It would probably just make her feel worse. Margaret ran her fingers through her hair, and started back to her tent. She knew that she wouldn't feel better until she had sorted everything out, and Hawkeye could wait... she hadn't decided what to say to him yet.

She didn't have time to. She was fumbling with the doorknob, annoyed that it wouldn't turn, when she felt the gentle touch of someone's hand on her back. Startled, she whirled around, and there he was. Hawkeye. Standing in her doorway like it was the most natural thing in the world. Margaret let out a long sigh, and shook her head.

"Do you have to sneak up on me like that?"

Hawkeye smiled. "Absolutely. I've gotta keep you on your toes." He crossed his arms in what she knew was meant to be mock dissatisfaction, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Where were you this afternoon? You were in pretty bad shape when I left you in the mess tent, but I dropped so many come-talk-to-me hints, I thought for sure you'd show up at some point. There I was, sitting in the Swamp like an idiot, waiting for you to come running to my open arms. BJ thought it was pretty funny, but I told him you'd come." He frowned, and looked at her slowly. "He thought it was even funnier when you didn't show at all."

Margaret tried to glare at him, but she had to look away. His deep blue eyes, usually so warm, were sad and hollow. She shivered involuntarily, and turned back to the door.

"What's going on, Margaret? Why can't you just talk to me? I thought we were so close...."

Close? She cocked her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "You did?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. We were together so much; I don't think you let go of me for a whole couple of weeks."

Her cheeks flushed. How could she have let herself get carried away like that? She thought she had hidden her feelings for Hawkeye pretty well, and it angered her to know that she hadn't. She shook her head, turning her attention back to the door handle. All wrong, she thought. This is going all wrong.

"What?"

God, had she said that out loud? She could feel Hawkeye's gaze on her back, and Margaret felt her whole body stiffen. She tried to concentrate on the door, but she knew she couldn't stand here like this much longer.

"What did you say, Margaret?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying to me. You said something about this 'going all wrong.'" He let out a long breath, and put his hands on her shoulders. "_What's_ wrong, Margaret? Talk to me. Please."

Slowly, she turned to face him. "I can't. I... I don't know. There's nothing to say... there's too much to say...." She trailed off, wishing that he wouldn't look at her that way. Those sad eyes, so full of confusion and concern... she wasn't sure how much longer she could handle the way they studied her.

Hawkeye stepped closer, his hand gently touching her cheek. "You're not making much sense," he whispered, and she shivered again. He sighed. Silently, easily, he pulled her into his arms.

She melted into him, her body wracked with sobs before she was even aware that she was crying. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lightly rubbed her back with his other hand. They stood like that for what seemed like hours, gradually becoming engulfed by the evening air. When Margaret finally lifted her head, she was surprised to see that the face looking back at her was as tear-stained as her own. Hawkeye had been crying, too; he plainly understood the way she was feeling. She reached a hand up and stroked his cheek.

"Hawkeye," she breathed, and he pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shh... you don't have to say it, Margaret. I know."

She closed her eyes, and rested her head on his chest. His shirt was wet with tears, and it felt cold against her cheek. "Chilly?" she whispered.

He nodded. "A little."

"Want to come in for awhile?

Hawkeye's face brightened. "Sure."

Margaret slipped out of his arms and reached for the door handle. This time, it opened effortlessly. "Ironic."

"What's ironic?"

They stepped inside, and Margaret shut the door behind them. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You know when you snuck up on me earlier?"

He nodded. "Mm-hmm?"

"I was trying to get in here... the latch was stuck."

Hawkeye drew her closer. "You see? Destiny. If you had been able to get in before, we wouldn't have had this whole conversation. And I never would've known how you really feel."

_What?_ She pulled her arms away from his neck and wriggled out of his embrace. How she really felt? _She_ wasn't even sure how she really felt! How dare he presume to know so much about her? How _dare_ he? Margaret could almost feel her blood boil. She glared at him, placing her hands roughly on her hips.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

Hawkeye was clearly alarmed. He stared at her, his expression slowly changing from one of hurt and confusion to one of disgust. Deliberately, he clenched his teeth.

"What the hell do I mean by that? What the hell do you mean by _this_? Damn it, Margaret, you make it so hard for me! You make it so hard for everyone! You're like this... this roller coaster, up and down, up and down, and I never know what you're gonna say! I never know what you're gonna do! One minute you won't talk to me, the next you're crying on my shoulder, the next you're wrapping your arms around me, and the next you're pushing me away! I don't even know why I try anymore. Oh, that's right: because I care about you! I care about you, Margaret! _ I care about you._ But the second I try to show you I care, the second I try to get to know you better, you freeze up faster than a popsicle! Let me tell you something, I know you better than you think. And I would love to be closer to you, but you won't let me in. You won't let me into your head, into your heart. It's like you've got this damn... emotional armor, that's what it is. This damn shield! And nobody's ever gonna reach out to you if you keep fighting them off this way!" He ran a hand over his face in exasperation, and folded his arms. "Do you understand?"

Margaret didn't know what to say. She knew that everything Hawkeye had said about her was true; that she froze up when he showed her affection; that she pushed people away.... Her lip quivered, and she could feel the tears stinging her eyes. She had been awful to him, and she knew it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He sighed. "I know."

"No," she said softly. "You don't. You don't know what it's like to owe a lifetime's worth of apologies. To know you've hurt so many of the people you love."

"I know you don't mean to do it. You're a beautiful woman, and I know that somewhere under that tough exterior, you've got a heart to match. It's... it's okay to let it show."

Somehow, that had never really occurred to her.

"Come on," Hawkeye said, and she followed him to her bed. They sat down, side-by-side, and she leaned wearily into his shoulder. He took her hand out of her lap and held it in his own. "I know how you feel. I may not owe a 'lifetime of apologies' but I've hurt my fair share of people, too... you, for one. And I'll never be sorry enough for that."

"Hawkeye?"

"Hmm?"

She swallowed. "Can I tell you something?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Anything."

"I... I love you." She looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to what she was saying. "I would've told you before, but... I guess I wasn't really sure. I wasn't sure I knew how to love anymore. But I've realized that I do, and... and I love you, Hawkeye." She breathed nervously. "Say something."

His face shattered into a warm smile, and he drew her into a tight embrace. "Oh, Margaret... I love _you_. I love you so much." He kissed her temple, breathing in the smell of her hair. "I... I don't know what to say. I've loved you ever since we've been stuck in this place. I've tried to tell you, but... I suppose I was afraid you would turn me down." He lifted her chin, and leaned his face closer to hers. "I love you."

Their lips met. Hawkeye kissed her softly, and she wrapped her arms around him, tenderly kissing him back. It was the sweetest kiss she had ever had, and the most meaningful. The man she loved, the wonderful man she loved, actually loved her back. Honest, true, beautiful love. It was something Margaret Houlihan had never really known before, and she kissed him with increasing passion, unwilling to let go. When they finally broke apart, she gazed into his eyes, drinking in their intense shade of blue. She was alarmed when she realized that they were full of concern.

"What is it?" she asked.

Hawkeye held her face in his hands, and ran his finger down her cheek. "You're crying."

She smiled. "Am I?"

"Yeah."

"Tears of joy," she said, and he grinned. "I've never been so happy in all my life."

Their lips came together again. He held her so tightly, she thought he would never let go. And suddenly, she realized that she hoped he never would. She wanted to hold onto Hawkeye for the rest of her life. Maybe this moment, this one perfect moment in Margaret's life, could be the one that lasted forever.


End file.
